Work Text:
Kinich adjusted the strap of his backpack, filled with some meals the Masters of the Night-Wind have kindly asked him to deliver to Ororon, also requesting of him to inquire about their well-being. Not an unusual request in his line of business, in fact, he'd call it one of the most common ones.
Regardless, the thing currently bothering him wasn't the job he was assigned, but rather the weight of his equipment both pulling and pushing at all of the awkward spots on his chest. He stretched his arms in-between his grapples, hoping to alleviate some of the aches.
One after another, he rarely touched the ground, choosing to tune out Ajaw and his incessant ramblings. He forced his eyes to remain open, despite the urge to close them so he could focus on breathing, which now seemed so hard from all of the restrictions around his ribs.
Not the first time, he reminded himself.
It won't ever be the last time, a small voice in the back of his mind supplied. His free hand reached up to try and massage the pain away, his fingers feeling the rough surface of the tight (too tight) bandages wrapped around there. He dug into his shirt, almost subconsciously trying to pull them slightly looser.
When he barely managed to dodge bumping into a cliffside due to his distraction, Kinich choose to just deal with the pain instead. Although, he wasn't really sure if that diverted his attention any less. Ajaw's annoyingly high pitch laughter rung out in his ear, and with a flick of Kinich's wrist, it was quiet except for the wind rushing past his ears.
He quickly spots the head of purple hair, tending to their garden and no doubt mumbling to their vegetables. Kinich let's go of the dendro which he swung on, reaching the ground and rolling onto his shoulder to a graceful stop in front of Ororon's fence.
Ororon doesn't move from their spot, but they do mumble "Right on time, as I expected." Kinich chooses not to comment on it, instead approaching them, swiftly pulling the backpack off, trying to stiffle the relived sigh that threated to leave his lips. Damn, it still hurt.
"The Masters of the Night-Wind requested for this to be delivered to you," he recited his line, extending his arm to offer the filled bag. "They also asked about how you were doing. I'll be heading back there soon on some other business, so you may send a message through me."
Only then did Ororon stand up, grabbing the offered bag with a small smile. They looked through its contents briefly, before walking up to their little house and setting it down on the porch. "Is the backpack yours?"
Kinich only nodded in reply, his hands once again reached up, picking at the ends of the bandages through his shirt. He probably wrapped them incorrectly, or they got messed up from his multiple fights and all of the swinging around. Either way, they were getting uncomfortable, and he needed to find a place where he could take them off soon.
"Here," the voice startled him, but he didn't show any outward reaction to it. "I separated some of the vegetables. These are for granny, if you see her. If you don't, you can just leave them with the chief-"
The rest of the instructions only half reached Kinich's head. He wasn't entirely sure why, but Ororon's nonchalance, and the need to get straight down to what needs to be done, was weirdly... comforting? No, that wasn't exactly the word he was looking for. Convenient, appreciated.
"-and these are for you. For your troubles. Although I'm sure you've already been compensated, you need to eat more." Kinich raised his eyebrow, crossing his arms almost defensively. "I grew them myself, I do hope you'll enjoy them."
"Thank you," was the curt reply. He didn't mean for it to come out that way, but they didn't seem at all bothered.
They pointed back towards their house, "There's more than enough bandages in my bedroom. Granny went a little overboard after my alliance with The Captain. You can take some and wrap them more loosely around your chest." And like they didn't just oh-so casually drop that on him, they crouched down to pull out a few weeds.
Kinich froze.
"How did you-" the words came out of his mouth before he even had the chance to stop them. What was wrong with him? Where did all of the preparedness suddenly vanish to? He tried to force his face back into neutral and stoic, but the best he could manage was a confused frown instead.
"You aren't the first I met." They shrugged, flicking at their fingernails to get rid of the no-doubt uncomfortable dirt under them. "You're from the Scions of the Canopy, right? If you're into extreme sports, you should be more careful around your ribs. Breathing is more important than appearances."
Breathing is more important than appearances.
Not the first time he's heard those words, he's said them to himself on multiple occasions even, but they never quite seem to sink in. Which was weird, because Kinich wasn't even all that concerned about what his body looked like. Practicality and agility over all else, except when the reflection in the crystal clear lake waters doesn't equal to what he imagines.
He hears Mualani's words somewhere in the back of his mind. Her reassurances, her worries, her not understanding Kinich's explanations at all. But he can't really fault her, can he? Not when all she wants to do is help, and he can't deny that the reassurances are pleasant to hear.
No, Kinich wasn't ever uncomfortable with his body. He doesn't think anyway. Next to his violent father, it was difficult to shift his focus on anything else but survival. He distantly wonders (Always. Always at the back of his mind) what his mother would think after finding out that her precious daughter is now her son instead? Would she understand? Would she take Kinich's "No, I was never uncomfortable in that body, but I prefer this one," as invalid?
Does he himself take it as invalid?
He snaps back to reality when Ororon waves their hand in front of his face. "If you're scared that I'll tell someone, I won't," they mumbled, occasionally snapping their fingers to keep Kinich's attention. "Granny should be able to give you advice if you choose to ask though. She gave it to me."
"Huh-"
They shrugged their shoulders once more. "Gender is too complicated," they just said, pulling their hand away. "So I just chose not to associate myself with it."
"Did it work?" Kinich asked, cursing himself for sounding too excited, too much like a little kid. "Did it make you better?"
"I don't know. I'm still me."
And he laughed, brief and quiet, but still present. "That's the best part, isn't it?" He found himself saying, crossing his arms, not in defense, but simply because it was more comfortable.
Ororon waved their hand, turning around to continue their work. "It's the worst part if you hate yourself."
Kinich's smile remained, wobbly and strained. "It's never not going to be me." No matter what, it's always going to be him. To be her. And although Kinich doesn't despise that part of himself, he certainly finds it inconvenient.
"You were never a her in the first place," comes the reply that Kinich wasn't trying to get. Regardless, he finds himself appreciative of Ororon's attempts. Somehow much better than Mualani's.
"I grew up as her," were the last words Kinich uttered, as he turned on his heel to walk back to the tribe from where he just came from. Checking over the contents of the bag once more before slinging it over his still aching spine.
"I told you already. I was never good at the gender thing." It was said with an edge of a smile, and Kinich couldn't help but smile back, despite his back being turned. Maybe they weren't, but they were certainly good at the people thing.
The bandages neatly tucked next to the vegetables meant for Kinich said more than enough.